Kindness of Strangers
by equine02
Summary: Kirby, age 17, is aided by what seems to him like an Angel, while strolling on the freezing middle-class streets of Chicago, Christmas Eve, 1931.
1. Eliza

**hi guys!**

 **So, I just checked, and this will be the 200th piece of combat! Fanfiction posted on this site! Yay!**

 **So, it's short, I know, and any mistakes are due to my horrible, awful, bane-of-my-existence... Auto correct. Yes, you heard right. Auto correct.**

 **Anyway, enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: nein. Don't know what it means, go look it up. In German. Google translate will be your best friend.**

He had always hated the cold, it was like a shadow, slowing people down. Making them sad. When he was a kid, sometimes the streets of Chicago felt colder than the North Pole.

Growing up he's never had it easy. There had been days when time felt as though it might stand still, the air was so frigid in both physical and mental ways. He had taken the weight of his own survival onto his own shoulders, though, and was absolutely determined to keep it there, no charity involved.

However, it was one blustery night in late December, Christmas Eve, in fact. Young William Kirby shuffled his feet along the icy gutter, head bowed in reference to the biting breath of Jack Frost, clutching bruised or maybe even cracked ribs. All along the streets, Christmas candles burned on evergreen trees in the houses, and had he been bolder, Kirby would have stuck his face on one of the windows to see inside. However, he was too afraid of the impending wrath of a Scrooge-minded old lady to try anything. Instead he kept shuffling. The snow- or rather, slush- was seeping up through his boots already, and yet he didn't want to go home. His house was dark, in the poverty-stricken section, one of many in Chicago, and his drunk father had just beaten him up there, so...

He wasn't afraid to walk here. He was safe in the arms of the rich, metaphorically of course. Of course, they weren't terribly wealthy, no one in Chicago was, except for the extremely upper class people, but these people were certainly more so than the Kirby family ever would be. His train of thought began to go numb.

Slowly, he realized his feet were frozen to the point of uselessness, and he began to fall without realizing what was happening. He landed hard on the wet street. Voices echoed through his mind, _worthless. You are nothing. You're the reason we live in this hell!_ Kirby tried to push himself up, but his exhaustion dragged him down, his dirty cheek still kissing the road.

His thoughts were halted when he heard a door creak open on one of the houses above him. From inside there was laughter, and the warm smell of cranberry sauce and baking bread. Cinnamon, too, assaulted his senses, and he almost staggered to a stop. Only the cold propelled him forward.

"Young man?" came a voice from the door. A woman's voice. Now Kirby, who was seventeen, perked, and tried to right himself, still to no avail. He brushed his hand across his face to wipe away to blood, and hoped that his father's handprint wasn't on his jaw.

"Ugh..."

"Are you alright? I... I just saw you walking on the street, and you fell." she stepped over the threshold, hugging herself to keep warm.

"Now, ma'am, you'd better not come out here," he almost drowned in a cruddy snowbank trying to stand up. "It's powerful cold out."

"Yes I-" she started, but froze. "My goodness! You're bleeding! You're head, behind your ear!"

He brought a handful behind his ear. Indeed, a warm, wet substance oozed abundantly. He sat up slowly, groaning. "Yeah, I um, hit my head." _With my father's whiskey bottle._

"Well come inside, before you freeze to death."

"Now miss, I'm a street rat, you don't know me-"

"Street rat or no, you're a human. And if you are dangerous, my father and two brothers are inside waiting to clobber you with a candlestick. Come on." Suddenly she was at his side, helping him stand.

As they walked in, she said to him, "I'm Eliza."

He blinked, and watched her face stretch into a pleasant smile. He smiled too.

"I'm... Kirby."

 **Tell me what you think!**

 **I know I haven't finished Dance With me, but crazy stuff happens in this here head of mine, and I gotta get it out. Anyway, drop a review if you get the chance, you know how much they mean to me... And to poor, freezing, beaten up Kirby...**


	2. Allen Rochester

**Guys, I am** ** _so_** **sorry. I have no excuse for this long wait…. Well, actually I do. 1, the holidays, 2, I've begun writing a book which has required a ton of my time to study for. Keep your fingers crossed that I can get through the mountains of WWII photographs, stories, info, history… and everything else : )**

 **So I feel awful leaving Kirby on the brink of care for so long, but I know he understands; here's his way of getting back at me- he plagued my thoughts while I was loading my Pinterest board with tons of WWII pics for research. Here's what I came up with, please review, thank you so much! And finally, Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: If only I owned them…. But I don't. I own Eliza and her family, though. That just doesn't sound right...**

Once inside, Eliza helped Kirby settle on a bright red couch beside a glowing fire. Indeed, three men, one significantly older than the other two, stood by the dining room table, hands getting dangerously close to the candlesticks there. Kirby felt his eyebrows raise, and winced when it pulled on the cuts behind his ear.

"Now Eliza-" the older man, Eliza's father, Kirby assumed, stepped forward, "This man is a street rat-"

"But you just said yourself, he is a _man_ , father. A human. And it's Christmas after all." She turned, and Kirby let his eyes linger on the wonderful lighting on a beautiful girl. "Matt, Danny, go get me some alcohol, and some bandages, enough for his head and to strap up his ribs."

The boys hurried off, and Eliza's father took his place looming over Kirby, watching him carefully. He was a graying man, with stubble, and simple clothes. It wasn't that he might have never been good-looking, only that age had robbed from him any trace of charm. Inwardly, Kirby smirked. _I have one thing on him at least._

"Kirby, you all right?"

"Oh yes, Eliza. Er, Ma'am." He nodded a short, confirming nod, adding, "My folks call my Kirby, some of the guys call me Bill. You can if you like."

"'The guys', who are they? Gangs? A group of murderers maybe?" Eliza's father stepped forward, if that was possible. He already loomed close enough. Kirby stumbled over his words, and Eliza intervened.

"Never mind that, Father." She sat down, taking the alcohol and bandages from her brothers, who had just then arrived back in the room. "Kirby, this is my Father, Allan Rochester. And these are my brothers, Matthew and Daniel. Everyone, this is-" she gestured for Kirby to continue.

"William G. Kirby." He stuck out his hand, grimacing, "Nice ta meet ya."

The boys said their hellos, but their father quickly pushed them away, claiming a shortness of fire wood, and would one of them- no both of them- please go get some more?

Kirby watched them leave. He glanced at Allen Rochester.

"Now, Sir, I see why you're suspicious, but really- oohh, you could'n'ta have given me some warning? Ouch."

Eliza gave him an apologetic smile, and finished cleaning the cuts on his head.

"You said you hit your head, Kirby, but these are cuts, and-" she held up a shard of bloody glass, "-did you fall through a window or something."

"Uh…. I'll just say it was the 'or something,' if you don't mind," he put a hand up to his head, turning away.

"Here, take off your shirt. I'll strap up your ribs."

"No, Elizabeth. Go heat up dinner. I'll do it." Her father interrupted, sitting down. Eliza looked slightly disappointed.

"Alright." She made it halfway into the next room when she turned around, "Be gentle, Father."

Kirby had the sneaking suspicion that was the last thing Allen Rochester could ever be.

 **So…. Tell me what you thought! Thanks for reading guys, I'm going to go grab some dinner and hit the sack. If any of you guys have ideas for another Christmas fic, now is the time to put them forth: ) Happy late Thanksgiving, and happy first day of December!**


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